


The Angry Warrior

by ArianShep



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Anger Management, Angry Sex, Dubious Consent, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24165916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArianShep/pseuds/ArianShep
Summary: takes place just after "Insurrection Alpha." content warning: more "enjoying a loss of control" fic, and contains dubious consent. disclaimer: this is not me advocating abuse in any way.01/21, i re-Archived this 'fic without a non-con warning, and left "Dubious Consent" as a tag. the story has not changed. it took writing anactualnon-con backstory for the Mass Effect piece to get me thinking more about the tagging process. i'mtryingto be far more complete in my tags in current works.alas, if you're looking for a Janeway-as-Mistress story, turn back now: that's not who ends up on top in this one.
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	The Angry Warrior

"There was only one real problem with that holo-novel, you know, over and above the fact that it was **Tuvok** who had managed to entertain the entire crew writing fiction." Chakotay's voice floated, amused and tired, over the table in the mess hall. Paris and crew had vacated for billiards a half-hour before.

"And that was...?" Janeway sipped her second cup of tea and considered B'Elanna's and Tom's separate invitations to play pool. She turned her head lazily to regard her first officer; his expression was more serious than his voice let on.

"The original premise, of course." He leaned a bit forward, his dark eyes twinkling. "But it's something Tuvok would have missed, I suppose." He glanced up at the Captain, grin playing at his lips, eyes merry... but somehow with a earnestness belied by both grin and eyes.

Kathryn Janeway shook her head and put down her tea, leaning back while she tried to decipher his expression, wondering what she could say in response to that. She had certainly never seriously considered the idea of Chakotay rebelling against her ascendancy on Voyager. She didn't know why, precisely, but the idea didn't seem to make sense. It never had. "I guess Tuvok just didn't know you as well as I did then, Commander".

She said this with a smile, but his grin faded. Perhaps there simply wasn't a safe reply, at the moment. She sighed. "I didn't mean-"

Chakotay held up a tanned hand to silence her, his face very serious. "Captain....Kathryn..." He too stopped and sighed, then his lips quirked again.

Janeway immediately relaxed.

"This shouldn't be so very hard to say, Captain." He expression was tired, but intent. "I only meant to point out that my leading a rebellion on this ship was never a possibility, for several reasons." He forced a smile when he saw her listening intently. "One, I'm just not that charismatic." His smile waxed as she hurrumphed exaggeratedly and took a sip of tea to cover her own grin. "Two, I've already proven I'm not very good at ferreting out people's 'true loyalties'" He held up his hand again as Janeway attempted to say something. "It's true, Captain." He forced a small self-deprecating laugh. "There was Seska, obviously. And Tuvok himself." Janeway again started to speak, and he moved the raised hand to her chin. She, surprised, stopped speaking and simply stared at him. "And three," he stated softly, "you and I both know my feelings for you precluded it." He let the moment hang there, and a red glow began to suffuse her face. Before she could reassert her 'Captain' demeanor, and dismiss what he had taken great pains to finally bring up, he let his hand drop. He stood up, clearing his throat.

Janeway didn't know which of the two options - to look up at him or to avoid looking up at him - would more reek of maidenly confusion, so she calmly reached for her tea, and sipped. She expected a quiet "Good Night, Captain", and his retreat by the time she put down the cup, but then it didn't happen that way; her cup was down and he was still standing there waiting. Her mind scrambled from one cliche' to another, desperately searching for the correct comment, the one that would restore order and authority.

"This isn't the place, Commander" popped out instead, a stop-gap measure that her mind was eminently dissatisfied with, since it allowed the response of-

"I have the time and desire to continue the discussion elsewhere, Captain," came the again-amused voice. It ran over her like hot chocolate down a sore throat. She shivered, and cursed the trapped-in-a-corner-say-the-first-thing-that-comes-into-your-head phenomenon. Then again, how many late night discussions (temptations) had she already resisted? Fifty? Seventy? And their time on New Earth had only made this whole mess worse.

He was waiting for an answer.

The response that she had decided to join the others stuck in her throat It would be an easy way out. Instead she stood, and waved a hand toward the door, noticing gratefully that the mess hall was empty. "After you, Commander." Having given the strong response - the challenging response - she felt somehow cheated when the boldness failed to alchemize from verbal to actual. Her stomach was doing cartwheels, had been for the last five minutes or so, and she didn't exactly expect them too stop... but it would have been nice. It took a double-take before she realized he was still standing there in front of her, grin fixed on his face, his own hand extended toward the door. She moved from behind the table, trying not to scurry or anything so un-Captainlike, but he was _right_ behind her. She fancied she could feel his breath on her neck. Hairs raised all over her body as she preceded him into the turbolift.

"Deck Five." He spoke in that self-assured, warm tone that made her want to smack him. How in the world did she lose control of these situations so easily? The problem was, she admitted ruefully, he already knew to a hair's breadth where the line between teasing and insubordination was located. And each time they met alone he managed to maneuver a concession from her, however minuscule, concerning a possible personal relationship. Grains of flour into a loaf of bread. Atoms into an incredibly complex molecule. Postulates into a theorem.

The lift doors had opened and he shouldered her out neatly. Torn between frustrated admiration and exasperation, she went to her own door without prompting. And she had to wonder, as he followed her inside, when the last grain of flour, the last atom, or last argument was coming.

"Coffee, Commander?" She usually switched over to his name at this point, but at the moment she wasn't feeling terribly charitable. And she had lost enough points for one night in what she was fast coming to realize was indeed a contest: of wills. The only problem here was convincing herself, yet again, before she gave in, of the necessity of winning. As she dipped into her replicator rations and dialed up coffee for them both, she began to recite regulations in her head. By the time she had pulled the coffee out of the replicator and carried it over to the couch, she had finished listing the salient regs, and was bringing forth the probable scenarios she had imagined. Like the favorite toys they were, they had been well-handled, and were a bit scruffy.

Her, married to her first officer, unable to keep order, deferring command decisions, _pregnant_ of all things. The crew confused, him taking over command decisions for one reason or another, and worst of all - disagreements, fights, an ending... Very, very rarely did Katherine let herself consider the positive aspects of the scenarios. She knew this was unlike her; in all other decisions it was essential to consider the cons *and* the pros. She told herself, however, that all this wasn't a normal situation. At all.

Her silence was not lost on Chakotay. And he wouldn't let it appear so, although it would have been easier to let Kathryn continue to think he was innocent in the entire process. It would have been easier to let 'accidents' keep happening: the accidental touch, the accidental reach, the incidental compliment, the innocent smiles. And it had seemed to be working for the first year or so. But then he'd smacked up against the fact that the barrier of command wasn't giving. At first he didn't understand it. No, strike that, he still didn't _understand_ it, completely; he had merely come to acknowledge it, give it it's due. It simply wasn't his command style anymore. He felt it obvious that Starfleet regulations were not meant to cover everything. They were not meant to cover the eventuality of a thirty-year hiatus in space, let alone a trip twice that length. Their trip.

And he was Marquis. Or had been. Not that he didn't understand Kathryn's need for leadership formality. But he knew it was possible to lead, and lead successfully, without it.

And dammit, he loved her. He _loved_ her. He had admitted that to himself a hellishly long time ago to have still heard next to nothing from her on the subject. Oh he knew, somewhere inside him, that she loved him back. But it wasn't the same as hearing it, and more importantly, living it, sharing it. He was honest enough with himself to realize it also bothered him immensely that she was everywhere, right next door, on the comlink, soft and strange and commanding and confusing...and yet he couldn't have her. It was excruciating. He had lost track of the nights he'd come within seconds of throwing her possibly-eroding-but-still-present doubts out the proverbial porthole, and simply making love to her. He'd certainly imagined it enough times alone in his room, after leaving her hip-deep in finished paperwork and unfinished conversations, how easy it would have been to have taken hold of her shoulders and-

"-it a night, Commander?"

"What?" Damn. Damndamndamn.

Janeway allowed a slightly smug expression to cross her face. She'd looked up finally and caught him in an abstraction not dissimilar to her own. Gambling that the comment could slip by, she had drained her coffee and suggested that he might be too tired for a conversation tonight. Only tiredness could account for his being so quiet, right?

"I said - you're very quiet, Commander. And you haven't touched your coffee. Why don't we just call it a night? I have a few items left on my desk that need attention, in any event." Put it that way, and there wasn't much he could do about it. She stood up near the end of this speech, and moved toward the door. It wasn't truly a retreat if it didn't appear like one. No fear. Command. Appear untouched, Kat. Get a grip on yourself and it'll be over in two minutes.

Chakotay slowly stood, unwinding his frame from the slightly slumped posture his introspection had put him into on the couch. A small smile played on his lips, and he allowed himself to feel admiration for being neatly outmaneuvered. Her king in check, suddenly free and unthreatened. Only that metaphor broke; his only goal was to take the queen. Chakotay felt himself start to get hard in response to that thought and shook his head. He didn't need her to torture him; his efforts to torture himself were adequate. Three steps forward, two steps back.

As he approached, Janeway lowered her eyelashes against the sight of him stretching, the muscles moving under his uniform. She caught his eyes darken, and simply turned away, refusing to acknowledge him. Just another minute. She had to keep that thought uppermost. Then she could take a cold shower, do the paperwork, read a technical manual, or if all else failed, deal with the desire in an expeditious physical manner, and try not to imagine it was him touching her.

Something snapped within Chakotay as she turned away. He recognized her movement for what it was: more than a denial of his feelings, a denial of her own.

Again.

Maybe it was simply a last straw. But his hands reached out to grab her arms. He swung her back around to face him and pulled her up against his body. _Tight_ against his body. And she was shocked enough not to fight in that first crucial minute.

After that it was too late.

Somewhere in the corner of his brain, Chakotay filed away the facts: he could be demoted for this. He could be imprisoned for it, though he didn't consider it likely. Worst, could lose the friendship of someone he cared about more than anyone else he'd ever cared for in his life.

Somehow it all paled in that minute, next to the gratification of finally having the last word, and finally giving the first kiss. He ground his mouth down on hers, giving her time to breathe but not speak. In some vague way, he was waiting for her scream of indignation during that breath, and when it didn't come, every muscle in his body redoubled in tension. His hands were on her hips, holding her in such a way and at such a lack of distance that had their uniforms disappeared he would have been deep inside her. Vaguely he realized he must be bruising her, hips and mouth, and he eased back on her lips, licking at them, thrusting his tongue inside.

She hadn't bit him. Why hadn't she bit him?

Oddly, the same thought occurred to them both at the same moment, and Kathryn's response to thinking it was to begin to struggle. Chakotay's response was to ease off a bit more. Therefore, she suddenly pulled free. The development seemed to surprise Kathryn more than her first officer. Chakotay simply stalked her as she moved, step by step, away from the door and toward the bed. His hands darted forward after a few feet and she jerked to avoid them, falling neatly backward onto the platform.

He was on her before the chagrin wore off, and she looked up at him in amazement as he ran his hands up her ribcage; his eyes were jet-dark and possessive. The tight rein on her emotions began to slip. The desire was escaping. Long a prisoner, it began to thrash at the walls, strong and hungry. She was hallucinating. Get a grip, Kat. But it was awfully hard to regain some semblance of control of the situation when all her muscles felt leaden, and a great moist heat was building between her upper thighs, and the tingling in her breasts where Chakotay's hands roughly caressed them was building.

Her uniform ripped with a loud tearing sound, and she stopped staring at his face long enough to look downward at their bodies. The rupture was in a side seams, and the front left section, command insignia and all, curled downward at his insistence, and kept curling, as he tore it further, all the way to her thighs; the slight, silky panties went with it, tearing also. She saw her own pale body, almost as though it wasn't hers, undulate upward as his hands, very dark against her skin, pressed against her. She felt another warm rush of pleasure; she saw his body, so hard, and so close. She gasped.

His head snapped up, catching her gaze. Either she looked more sure than she felt, or he simply didn't care at this point: his knees slid outward, parting her legs, and one hand slid between them. His thumb began to circle the clitoris determinedly, and a finger dipped hesitantly inside, felt wetness, drove in with some force, a mate at it's side.

She gasped, possessed. Primal. Unstoppable. The lingering fear evaporated. What did it matter really, since finally it was totally out of her hands? The fact was there was no way for her to stop him. She tried to speak, one last protest, and his kiss took her words away, drowning them in pleasure. His tongue darted in and out of her mouth, his fingers drove in and out of her vagina, and his thumb tormented her. Reality had stopped here.

She remembered she had arms, and hands. She brought them up to fumble at his uniform; she was pushed back and pinned with incredible swiftness. His eyes, hot and angry, dared her to try to move again. The moist places ached for his fingers to return to them. Her whole body spasmed with the impact of feeling utterly helpless beneath him. A battle raged inside her - indignation that she could _enjoy_ such treatment versus the evidence that she was, in fact,enjoying it. Not that it mattered when his grip shifted, one hand holding both of her wrists, and the other returning below to its invasion. She  
moved from side to side feebly, feeling the orgasm build, fighting it out of a sense of duty, the lingering feeling that it was somehow improper for this man to see her lose control.

It was a moot point as her entire body tensed, lifting him up, and she screamed a wave of fire coursed through her. He wasn't gentleman enough to simply stop after a few seconds of this either - he kept his thumb rubbing over that same spot, slick and insistent, as she cried and whimpered and pleaded, and finally screamed again at the shattering impact of the second, stronger orgasm flooding through her. She fought his hand on her wrists, to get away, to rip off his damned uniform, she wasn't sure. The pleasure hit again and again, and she could feel as it slowly ebbed, the damp puddle between her thighs, and his lazy rocking fingers still sliding in and out of her. 

He appeared to hesitate, looking down at her. She only then realized that he'd been staring at her the entire time she convulsed under him, a look of wonder and love stamped on his face. Suddenly the fingers might have been lazy, but they were more than enough, coupled with that intense gaze. She began orgasming again, whimpering, a quieter feeling but strong, muscles clenching at his fingers in rhythmic tugs. His face grew even more amazed. She choked back the slightly hysterical laugh that threatened and pulled slightly at her arms. She watched the debate begin in his head and quickly spoke. "Chakotay." Her throat closed and she ruthlessly forced it open. "Please..." That was harder to say than she expected, and it came out hoarse. She tried again. "Please. Allow me to return the favor?" She knew her face was flushed red, from exertion if not from humiliation, but she couldn't allow herself to lower her eyes. This couldn't finish with either of them in any doubt she had genuinely consented. Kathryn Janeway refused to let herself take the easy way out when it really counted.

There was far too much at stake.

His demeanor had softened quite a bit, but obviously not as much as she had thought. He thrust his fingers deep inside of her, and spoke into her gasp- "I'll release your wrists, Kathryn. But don't think that anything you do can change what's about to happen." This was almost certainly pure bravado, but she never tested it. When he let her arms go, and began to tear at his own uniform, she pushed his hands out of the way and tore at it herself. Startled, he let her pull at it for several seconds, before it became obvious that it wasn't going to give way to her. When she started fumbling for the fastening, he pushed her back down and tore it off himself.

Kathryn reached down, with every intention of finally giving in, if she was going to indulge this far, to the impulse to caress him, to finally learn the strength of him. But, slipping his arms beneath her body and pulling her to him, skin meeting skin, Chakotay surged inside her very suddenly, merging them with a move Kathryn could only think of later as 'utter possession'.

That the forceful, slow, and thorough plunging to follow would draw out yet another orgasm from her was a forgone conclusion. She endured it with good humor, shuddering and crying out and trying to pull herself together in time to accomplish her one goal at this point - to watch Chakotay as he had watched her. With this in mind, she began to clench her muscles in time with his strong thrusts, milking him in effect. His face was terrible and lovely, angry and pleading. "Oh, gods...Kathryn...please...don't...Ahh!" 

He lost control as she finally got her feet under her and began to meet him thrust for thrust with her hips. His last powerful thrust released all his weight onto her, slamming her down onto the bed despite her attempt at leverage. And despite all her expectations of such things, as she felt him spasming inside her she had yet another orgasm, a small one, a twitching that was ticklish pleasure even as the warmth filling her began to trickle out. 

She was suddenly exhausted. And more ready to sleep with someone else in her bed than she had been in years. They had been together many months before she had let Mark stay the night with her. Couple a general desire for emotional distance with a tendency toward restless sleep, and you came up with someone who enjoyed her nights far more alone, thank you. Until now, perhaps.

He had eased up, looking down at her a warily, but with a satisfied expression she couldn't bring herself to resent. A sleepy smile crossed her face as she yawned, and attempted to direct a detangling of limbs and uniforms that would allow her to sleep, finally toeing off her boots. She loosened her hair from its roll with a sigh of pleasure and stretched out. "Commander..." She looked up and over at him, stretched out beside her. "Please stay. We're going to have things to...discuss...in a few hours."

Chakotay winced.

When she woke up, he was watching her. He was propped up on one arm - one tanned, brawny, _naked_ arm - watching her. He was very dark against the white sheets, everything above the waist exposed and tanned. She processed this bemusedly, even as she wondered what he was doing in here. She stretched slowly...

Then she _really_ woke up. Muscles screeched in protest, bruises reintroduced themselves, deep sore spots chimed in, abraded skin made itself known. Her eyes went wide, her mouth formed into a small "o" of surprise, and her eyebrows came together in a swift expression of pain.

Chakotay watched this with a gathering feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. His anger, so inappropriate and excessive last night, all directed inward this morning. He suddenly remembered explaining to Kathryn about that anger, and even as she struggled to sit up - a wince marking her face - his mind saw the irony in having "warned" her; it did nothing to assuage his conscience. 

"Kathryn..." he paused, waiting to see if she'd look at him. She did. "I've been debating for the past half hour whether to say 'I'm sorry' or not." Her eyebrows arched and her mouth opened. He shook his head slightly. "You know very well that I would never, could never, lie to you. Ever. About _anything_." Her face conceded this point, and she looked thoughtful. He took a deep breath and his hand rose to caress her cheek, her neck. His eyes first followed his hand, dipped lower and saw the beginning of the bruises, on her chest and upper arms, and then rose to her face again, dark and serious. "I..." He tried again. "I lost control, Kathryn. For hurting you...I _am sorry_." He swallowed. "I will freely accept anything you decide to do to me. I should probably be in the brig." His eyes didn't appear exactly defiant, Janeway realized, but they were hiding something. "I just can't say I'm sorry for the loss of control." 

Ah, Kathryn nodded to herself. There it is. She hadn't realized she had looked away until his hand took her chin again and turned her face back toward his. She allowed a tiny start of a smile to crease the side of her bruised lips. He looked so damn earnest. So...unwaveringly sincere. The smile broadened. And they called Harry Kim 'Starfleet?'

"What are you smiling at?" Her smile had brought an small answering smile to his lips, and a quizzical look to the rest of his face. He hadn't had much hope she might shrug this off, or that they might somehow turn this into a continuing relationship. But if there was any chance...

"I was just thinking how incredibly...Starfleet...you look this morning. Nearly shining with sincerity." Her face looked thoughtful. "Are you worrying about the court-marshal, Commander?"

She could have pole-axed him and it would have surprised him less. _Could_ she grease this situation with humor and let it slide off them both? And should he let her get away with it if she tried? Four steps forward, three steps back.

"Kathryn. As relieved as I am that you're not tossing me into the brig just now...I think I'd be slightly more reassured about how you really felt if you'd just yell at me a little." He looked hopeful. Kathryn Janeway stretched again, wincing, and took in the ruin of her uniform with dismay. Memories came back, flooding her with embarrassment, and other feelings, lower, which she refused to acknowledge. She ruefully looked up at her First Officer.

"I know you would, Chakotay...that is exactly why I won't yell." The satisfaction his start of surprise gave her was acute.

He recovered quickly, grin threatening to return and admiration filling him. Again he was caught between adoring her and wanting to throttle her. And again he remembered how he had likened himself to that angry warrior finally finding peace. Peace. This was an _odd_ sort of peace.

She was staring at his face as the different thoughts crossed it. She could almost read them as they flitted by, his face was so expressive and open. The surprise faded quickly, turned rueful, admiring, rueful again. "What is it? What are you thinking?" She surprised herself by the question, but realized she really wanted to know. Somehow, what had happened last night was beginning to seem more and more like a natural occurrence, and less and less like something spectacular and strange. But how was he seeing it?

"I was just remembering...Kathryn...I told you the legend of the angry warrior once." His mouth turned up despite his efforts to control it. "I said he found peace. Perhaps....I was a bit... _hasty_...in concluding that legend."

She couldn't help it. She laughed.

And then two small beeps from beneath the covers silenced them both. Tuvok's voice split the air between them. "Tuvok to Captain Janeway and Commander Chakotay. Please report to the bridge. We have several readings on long-range scanners that require your attention. It is possible that they indicate another Borg cube."

Neither hesitated. Diving under the covers and grabbing the comm badges, Janeway tossed one to Chakotay, who was detangling himself from the covers and inspecting his uniform. She pressed her own badge. "Janeway to Tuvok. We'll be right there." She stood up, nearly naked, and almost laughed at his expression as he took in the ruin of his uniform. "Feel free to use some of my rations to replicate yourself another, Commander." She gathered up the scraps dangling off her own body and moved with quick steps to her dresser, pulling out her spare uniform. She quickly stripped off and stepped into the new one. Her mind felt torn between this near-farce, and the situation that could occur if that was another Borg ship. This was exactly why this shouldn't have happened. She yanked impatiently, feeling the strain in her muscles as welcome penance, the pain in her scalp when she scraped her hair back into a bun.

When she looked up, he was gone. She sat down on the bed, quite suddenly, feeling a curious pain in her stomach at his leaving without a word. She used the bathroom, washed, ended up having to hunt for her boots. The door chimed as she wrestled with those boots, and she called out "Come", without even thinking.

Chakotay strode in, new uniform crisp, hair combed, boots on. His mien was respectful, but the grin ruined it. "I thought I'd escort you, Captain. You're not ready yet?"

She pulled on the left boot, wondering if any Captain had ever been deemed unfit for command after beating their First senseless with a piece of footwear. "I _am_ ready, Commander." As she stood, he pulled her close, and kissed her softly. Just as suddenly he released her. "Just a good morning, Captain, before we leave. And a thank you." His eyes twinkled. "Can we work with a promise that I won't touch you again until we're back in this cabin?"

Roiling feeling in her stomach. Soft fluttering that might be called desire. What had she done to deserve this confusion? Put it off as long as possible, that's what, she realized ruefully. Ah well...time to work. She nodded.

And ten minutes after Tuvok first contacted them, they were both on the bridge, working.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a very, very, _very_ old fic. my first fic, actually (written 05/1997). if you're a Voyager fanfic-fan, and were a member of one of the old newsgroups, you might sort of semi-recognize this (and, well, pull up a rocking chair! how have you been?) though it's been slightly edited. i'm editing all my old stuff before i put it up here.
> 
> this was supposed to be an entire series at one point, and after the show completely dissed J/C 'shippers, i lost heart. i have no idea if i'm going to re-post Storm Riders (the follow up), since in my estimation it was always the lesser fic, having suffered from that despondency.
> 
> my favorite comment ever on this fic was when *my* favorite J/C writer called it "hot." i'm OK if it didn't age well. LOL


End file.
